Lights Will Guide You Home
by SpobyFicStalker
Summary: "He had the ability to shred her to pieces in a single evening, and the mere idea of that was scary as hell; but he also had the ability, and more importantly, the patience, to put her back together." A series of random events trigger Spencer and Toby into dealing with the more painful occurrences of their tumultuous history.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Months ago, I had an anon reviewer ask me to write a story where Spencer and Toby discuss the events of season 3B. I delayed and delayed this request, mostly because there was still a tiny part of me that believed it might happen on the show, and that would be infinitely better. But I can't ignore it anymore. It's sad, because part of me feels like I'm doing the writers' job and I'm convinced that if they put their minds to it, they could do it a lot better than I could. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like this is going to happen.

This story will be three chapters, and caused me more trouble than anything I've ever written before. There were a lot of times when I seriously doubted it would ever get posted, but respect for these characters always kept me pushing through.

I dedicate this story to everyone who's ever felt frustrated or sad or betrayed that we never got any details of what went through Toby's mind while he broke Spencer's heart as well as all of ours'. Here is my version. Hope you enjoy.

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><p><strong>Lights Will Guide You Home<strong>

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_I will try to fix you_

_- Coldplay_

March 2012

Through the closed curtains shone a gorgeous mix of orange, red and yellow, and it was only then that Toby realized how long he had been wide-awake and staring at the ceiling. He couldn't say what had awoken him before when it was still pitch back, both in his bedroom and outside, but he supposed it was just one of the inexplicable things where he couldn't get back to sleep no matter what he tried. And so, when he noticed the sun slowly but surely rising in the east, he figured he might as well get an early morning run in.

Having spent a year in reform school and later a few weeks on house arrest, this kind of freedom was not something he took for granted. He felt unparalleled adrenaline course through his veins as he pulled on his running shoes, eager for the fresh morning air and to see the town when all its monsters were still tucked in bed.

He pushed his front door open, testing his elasticity on the balls of his feet for a moment before pushing in his earphones and heading down the stairs to the road. He was just thinking about how nice it felt not to see a car in sight when a large silver-colored SUV appeared from around the corner. Toby had barely taken two steps, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he realized the vehicle belonged to his girlfriend, Spencer Hastings.

Instinct tugged him towards it, and she must have spotted him too because she pulled over and was opening her window as he made the final approach.

"Hey," he greeted her, torn between feeling happy to see her and wondering what the hell she was doing driving to his place at five in the morning.

"Hi," she replied, offering him a smile but it didn't escape him that it was shaky at best.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, feeling his shoulders sag.

She quickly shook her head. "Nothing. You going for a run?"

"That was the plan," he affirmed with a nod. "I woke up like an hour ago and couldn't fall back asleep."

She nodded back at him and forced another smile. "Go on, then. We still on for lunch today?"

He wasn't fooled. "Spencer–"

"Go," she repeated gently, leaning in through the open window to place a kiss against his lips.

For a moment, he could have been fooled that she didn't have a care in the world. Her mouth felt warm and solid against his, and it eased the unrest inside him a little. He might have been convinced that everything was exactly as it should be if not for the seemingly insignificant proceedings that happened next.

She didn't pull away and smile at him like he thought she would when the kiss ended. Instead, she stayed close, her lips trailing across his face to press another kiss against his cheekbone, and then upwards for one more to his forehead. This time he could feel the tremors behind each contact, and he knew. He knew something wasn't right.

Instinctively, he pulled the car door open and reached for her. Only now did he notice that all she had on was the greyish-white T-shirt if his that she sometimes slept in, paired with booty shorts and flip-flops on her feet. And sure enough, once his hands touched her he was momentarily distracted from her carefully composed demeanor.

"Oh jeez, you're freezing," he blurted out. "Come inside, I'll make you some tea."

She protested a little, but let him help her out of the car and ultimately didn't even put up a fight when he took the keys from her and locked the vehicle behind them. He pulled her close as they walked up the stairs to the loft, trying to transfer some of his warmth into her, and couldn't stop himself from pressing a quick kiss against her dark, silky hair.

He settled her on the couch, draping his massive quilt around her and attempting to rub some of the shakes out of her body before announcing softly that he was going to boil water for tea. He kept an eye on her from the kitchen, less than thrilled with the way she simply stared out in front of her emotionlessly.

Spencer was the most amazing person he knew. Every day they spent together she found something to do that completely blew him away. She was both book smart and street smart, she had a bizarre sense of humor that he immediately connected with, and underneath a few layers of darkness and cynicism she was probably the most caring human being he had ever met.

Despite all this, or maybe because of it, he knew she could also be a handful. Her parents had labeled her "the difficult child" a long time ago, and while he despised that they openly shared this opinion with her nearly every time there was an argument, a part of him did understand where they were coming from.

She could be quick to lash out, especially when something had her stressed. She also had a knack for jumping to conclusions, which Toby always tried very hard not to do. But what was by far her most frustrating personality trait – at least to Toby – was her tendency to pretend everything was fine when it quite obviously was not.

He knew it wasn't her fault. It was something so engrained into her that it came as easily as breathing and sleeping and eating. It was the way her family operated, and she had learned early on that it was abide by these rules or choke under the pressure.

Toby felt his heart ache a little as he watched her from the kitchen. He wanted to push until she spilled her guts, but he knew that would only make things worse and that in the end it was nothing but selfish on his part. She needed to feel safe before she would open up. He could never be upset with her for that.

And so when he handed her a mug of hot tea – spiced with lemon and honey, the way she liked it – he didn't bombard her with questions. He didn't try to force anything out of her. He simply tugged the quilt more tightly around her shoulders and eased her against his chest without a word.

Minutes passed in silence. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. The only movement in the room was his hand rhythmically running up and down her back, and her bringing the mug to her lips every once in a while. He waited for her to start talking, like she nearly always did when he held her long enough. It was taking more time than usual, but he wasn't someone who was easily discouraged. He would wait. He would wait his entire life for her.

When she finally shifted quite noticeably against him, he tried to catch a glimpse of her face but was soon distracted by the sensation of her pushing the mug back into his hand. Before he knew what happening she had draped one arm over his shoulder and buried her face in his shirt as she let out a deep, almost animalistic sob.

The hair on the back of his neck arose but before he had the time to consciously react, another sob followed. Horror overwhelmed him, and again the instinct to interrogate her flared up – now worse than ever. He literally wanted to shake her until the words spilled from her mouth and he could do something to fix whatever had her in such a state. Fear paralyzed him as he watched how sobs now wracked her entire body. Did someone hurt her? Did someone come into her room and…?

Toby swallowed down the bile in his throat. Still acting on instinct, he tightened his hold on her and bent over to place the half-empty mug on the coffee table. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the arm of the couch, pulling her all the way against him.

He had seen her cry before, of course. Life was too hard on her and he was too close to have eluded her tears. But he'd never seen her cry like this before. Her sobs seemed to start in the very pit of her stomach, almost like gasps, ascending through her frail little body to finally be flung from her mouth with the most horrible, heart-wrenching resonance. It was the most awful, most pitiful sound he had ever heard in his life.

He had no idea how long it took her to calm down. It could have been five minutes; it could have been an hour. To him, time stood still as he watched her fall apart. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair and whispered things against her that were meant to be soothing but he couldn't be sure because the connection between his brain and his mouth seemed to be severed. And when she gradually fell silent, he was almost surprised to find out that dread had numbed most of his curiosity. He had so desperately wanted to know what made her cry like that, but now that she was still it was as if he was afraid to find out.

She lifted her head from his chest and slowly sat up, wiping her nose on her shirt clad shoulder. Not quite meeting his gaze, she opened and closed her mouth a few times as if she didn't even know where to start. Her eyes were bloodshot and even the skin on her face was reddish from crying. It made his own vision blur but he held his tears back, telling himself that it was the last thing she needed right now.

"I had a bad dream…" she finally croaked, and he didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned. Part of him nearly sagged in relief that the cause of her tears wasn't that she was physically hurt, but the other part worried incessantly that a single nightmare could cause this kind of a reaction from her.

"About -A?" he prodded as gently as he could, but she shook her head.

"About you," she clarified quietly, and his heart dropped into his stomach. She looked away as she continued, as if staring at him would tear her apart. "Sometimes I have dreams of finding you in that forest…" She blinked a few times. "And I wake up and I know it's not real – I _know_ that but I still…" She shrugged powerlessly and shook her head, still avoiding his gaze. "So I drive out here, and when I see your truck in the driveway I feel better."

An eerie silence fell upon them when the impact of her confession hit him. The implication that this had been an ongoing thing left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, not to mention the despair that washed over him at the mere idea that she hadn't told him about it.

"Why didn't you come in?" he questioned helplessly. "Or why didn't you just call me from your bed if you wanted to make sure I…?"

She lowered her eyes, and he couldn't finish his sentence. Then she shrugged, mumbling something about not wanting to wake him.

He didn't buy it. Not completely anyway. He realized it was probably part of the reason, but the biggest part was that she simply hadn't wanted him to know because it wasn't rational.

He knew she had always battled with the balance between rationality and angst. She was a highly logical person but she also had severe anxiety issues, and the combination of these two traits was a disaster to her mental health. He could only imagine how exhausting it had to be to constantly have to put your own demons to bed; knowing deep down that they weren't real, but being incapable of permanently getting rid of them nonetheless.

"I never had a meltdown like this," she added quickly, as if that would make it more acceptable that he hadn't known this was going on. "I would just drive back home and get back in bed like nothing happened. But now, I…" She hesitated; then apparently decided she didn't want to come clean because she shook her head. "Nothing."

"What?" he insisted, reaching for her hands, holding them in his own like they were precious jewels.

He watched her swallow and noticed how a hint of her earlier tears seemed to return. She cleared her throat. "When you were holding me before, I… I let myself wonder what my life would look like if you really had died that night. I never dared to do that before. Every time my mind went there I'd push it away because I told myself it didn't matter…"

By the time her words had sunk into him, he realized he was squeezing her fingers tightly – too tightly. He made a conscious effort to loosen his grip, running his thumbs over her knuckles as if the subtle movement would distract him from the turmoil her confession had brought with it.

"Spencer," he mustered, disquieted by how strangled his voice sounded. "I'm so sorry."

Her face remained impassive but she slowly pulled her hands from his grasp, and when she lifted her eyes to his it knocked the wind out of him because he didn't think he'd ever seen so much pain before.

"How could you?" She shook her head slowly, a haunting sense of disbelief etched across her flawless features. "How could you just let me believe you were dead?"

She had asked him this question before – not that long ago though it seemed like a lifetime – but unlike to last time, he heard no anger in her voice. Just agony. So much agony that it sent jabs of physical pain searing through his stomach.

How could he even begin to explain something he himself still didn't fully comprehend?

"I went back and forth on it," he choked out. "All the time. Don't you ever think I'd made peace with it. But I was scared, Spencer. Terrified. For _your_ life, not mine. It was…" He took a deep breath and tried to get himself under control, knowing she had every right to his explanations. "When I was trying to convince Mona that I wanted in on the A-team, that I hated you, that I wanted to hurt you… she would tell me, all the time, that if I was screwing with her it would be you who paid for it. Not me. And I… I knew by then that I'd made a horrible mistake but I was in too deep to turn back, and I kept thinking if I could just get to the bottom of it, it would mean something. All the lying and hiding and risking your life wouldn't be for nothing."

"That doesn't explain why you stood by and watched me lose my mind because I thought you were gone forever!" she cried bitterly, a lone tear making its way down her pale cheek. "It didn't even matter that I didn't know if you loved me or not. I could have lived with not knowing. It ate me up inside, but I would have survived. But I can't live in a world where you don't exist, Toby. Not then, and not now."

He nodded quickly, almost not wanting her to continue, and feeling like there was nothing he could add because unfortunately, he knew exactly what she was talking about. A dark phantom choked the life out of him whenever he thought about something happening to her. It made him crazy, and it led him to do impulsive, reckless, dangerous things.

"I considered breaking you out of there," he said quietly. "I showed up at the gates of Radley twice in the week you were there, in the middle of the night, ready to bust you out. But by then I couldn't imagine you not hating me. And I would look at those gates, at those high, sturdy walls… and I would realize you were safe in there. No one could get to you, and…" His voice cracked. "No one had a reason to _want_ to hurt you because you were already broken."

There it was. The ugly truth. And as usual, her analytical brain hit the nail on the head.

"So you would rather see me safe but miserable, than happy but at risk?"

He didn't answer, because he knew that there was nothing he could say to make it sound less awful without being a hypocrite. There was a time when he would have vehemently denied this, truly believing that there was nothing in this world more important to him than her happiness. But when he looked at his past actions, he had no choice but to conclude that that was just not true. It was never a deliberate or even a conscious decision, but it was as if he instinctively put her safety above everything else, whether he meant to or not. Whenever he feared for her physical wellbeing, it was as if he developed a tunnel vision and everything else simply blended into the background.

It was something he was deeply ashamed of, and the only thing that brought him the tiniest bit of solace on the matter was that she was guilty of the same sins. In the past, her decisions had demonstrated how she, too, would rather see him safe than happy. She might not have taken it as far as he did, but deep down in the core of their existence they were the same.

"I know I screwed up," he murmured, struggling with his words. "What I did was unforgivable, and I wouldn't have blamed you if you never wanted to see me again. But you have to believe me when I tell you that everything I did, I did _because_ I love you more than I can stand sometimes. I know it doesn't look that way, but you were always on my mind and every move I made I thought of you first."

She nodded, and he realized she had no trouble believing it.

"Can I ask you something?" she queried simply, and he immediately gave her his full attention – not that she didn't already have it before.

She took a deep breath. "What would you have done if I never found out you were alive?" Her eyes found his in an almost accusatory look. "Would you have revealed yourself, _ever_? Or would you have just disappeared after it was all over, because you thought there was no way I wouldn't turn you away?"

He looked at her, painfully. He wished he could tell her with one hundred percent certainty that he would have fought for her, fought to explain, fought to prove himself and the sincerity of his feelings for her. But the truth was that he just didn't know. The truth was that it was only too easy to imagine that by that point he would have hated himself with enough passion to be convinced that she was better off without him. Better off thinking he was dead and gone, giving her a fighting chance to rebuild her life with someone with whom she didn't share such a torturous past.

She saw his indecision, and didn't force him to answer. She spoke instead.

"If you ever doubt how much I love you," she said, her voice quiet but steady, "if it ever becomes a question in your mind, even for a second, you remember this. You remember how I want you even after this."

A lump arose in his throat, and he could only nod as his eyes welled up. And then, she did the unexpected. She moved forward, crawling into his lap leaning her frame into his as her hands reached up to hold his head and her face tilted into his neck. His arms went around her on their own accord, pulling her as far into him as their bodies would allow, and as he breathed her in it crossed his mind that this was what it must feel like to taste a first sip of water after days in the desert.

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><p><span>August 2012<span>

Every morning when Spencer woke up, there was still one instant, one second where she forgot. One second when dread would well up inside her as she wondered what the day would bring, wondered if all her loved ones would still be all right – more or less – when the sun disappeared again. But then, it would hit her that their nightmare was finally over. The culprit had been caught and the threats had stopped, permanently this time. Her friends, family and boyfriend had made it through alive. As had she.

She'd had what was without a doubt the best summer of her life. Last year would have come close if not for the weight of Maya's death and Emily's crushing absence, but this year was pure bliss. She'd taken a few college courses, but said no to an internship at her father's law firm, much to his dismay. She went on a road trip with the girls and camping with Toby, and was even convinced into going on a five-day vacation to Mexico with her mother (which she dreaded at first, but afterwards she was willing to admit it went over better than she'd thought). The days she'd been home she'd hung out at the Brew and by the pool with Toby or the girls, watched movies and devoured books she'd wanted to read since forever. It was as if they were all trying to make up for the two years where every form of relaxation had been snatched from them in the form of one hooded figure.

But now, it was all coming to an end. A new chapter of their lives awaited them, and while Spencer couldn't deny the relief of finally being able to leave Rosewood and start over somewhere away from her family and the reputation associated with the Hastings last name, she hadn't expected to feel this level of nostalgia.

Emily was set to fly out to California tomorrow, and not only was she the first out of their foursome to leave, she was also the only one not staying on the East Coast. It was heartbreaking for Spencer to watch her go knowing she would probably be seeing a lot less of dark-skinned friend than of the other two, simply because of the distance. And so it was Hanna who came up with the idea of throwing Emily a surprise going away party at the Hastings' lake house.

Paige had been instructed to keep Emily busy all day; Hanna and Aria were currently out shopping for food and drinks while Spencer got the house ready with Toby's help.

Being willing to admit that his artistic abilities by far surpassed hers, she'd put him in charge of making a gigantic banner that said _Bon Voyage Emily_. He'd already written out the words in clear red paint, and was now sitting on the floor in the middle of an abundance of pictures Spencer had tossed his way to tape to the banner.

She had been tempted to sift through them with him, simply to get lost in all the good times she and the girls shared together despite the overwhelming calamity, but they were short on time and Spencer was still carrying all her nana's good china to the attic to avoid it being smashed to pieces by a bunch of rowdy, careless teenagers.

When the last load was out of sight she decided that her next task would be setting out the numerous paper cups she'd bought for the occasion. However, when her eyes landed on her boyfriend, still slaving away over the banner in the den, her feet halted at the bottom of the stairs.

He was staring down at one photo, his face grave and slightly red around his eyes. When he sniffled, his right hand reaching upwards to rub one finger under his nose, she took a few steps towards him.

"Toby?"

His eyes lifted to meet hers and she felt inexplicably alarmed when she saw they were moist. Her feet automatically moved faster and he reached for her once she was close enough, gently pulling her down into his lap and closing both arms around her in a tight, grounding embrace.

"Baby," she whispered against him as her fingers crawled into his hair. "What's wrong?"

It occurred to her that he wasn't holding her in a way that suggested he wanted comfort. He was holding her like he wanted to _give_ it. He swayed her softly from side to side, almost like he was rocking an infant to sleep, his hand slowly running up and down her back and eventually into her waves in a soothing gesture.

She felt concerned and confused but latched on firmly anyway, intuitively knowing that despite his reassuring actions he was deeply upset and close to tears from what she had seen before.

"It's okay," she murmured, though what exactly she was attempting to quiet down she still had to idea.

When he finally drew back, he let out a deep, shuddering breath, and she saw that he was still holding the photo between his fingers. Shooting him a questioning look, her own hand went to bring the picture closer, feeling more than ready to know what could possibly be on it that prompted this level of distress.

At first glance, she saw nothing that was even the slightest bit disturbing. It was a nice captured moment of her and the girls, taken outside the Brew on a sunny day, though by whom she couldn't recall. But when she looked closer, she felt her stomach churn in a most dissatisfying way.

In the picture, she was displayed off to the side next to a grinning Aria, and she was the only one of the four who wasn't looking straight into the camera. She looked deathly pale, her hair appeared as if it hadn't been brushed in days, and she was wearing loose-fitting, somber clothes that seemed representative of someone who simply couldn't be bothered to care. The absolute worst part was her eyes. They looked dead, empty, numb – yet there was so much hidden suffering visible that it completely discredited the half-assed, tightlipped smile that was splayed on her mouth. The three beaming girls next to her seemed oblivious to it, but she had a look about her that was as if she had seen war.

And she knew. She didn't know how _he_ knew, but she knew beyond a shred of doubt that this picture stemmed back to the darkest period of her life, when she had believed that the person she loved, trusted and relied on beyond anything or anyone in the world, had been playing her all along.

Her stomach rolled again, and the calmness with which she placed the picture on the floor and broke away from him was in complete contrast to the turmoil raging through her mind. He didn't follow her as she walked away, but his voice did.

"Spencer…"

It sounded hoarse and pained, and it steered her into a hesitant halt despite her instinct to keep going until the throb in her chest went away. Slowly, she turned to face him.

He was still sitting where she'd left him: on the floor, amidst a bunch of pictures and a very attractive looking banner. He looked heartbroken.

It was horrifying and infuriating and utterly unfair that mere minutes ago, she'd been thinking that her life was finally as it should be, she was finally content, she was finally safe… and then she remembered how her gentle, tenderhearted boyfriend had made some very poor decisions that ultimately landed her in a mental hospital, and everything hurt all over.

She wondered if that pain would ever go away. If it would ever stop sneaking up on her, even when she was happiest, instantly making her throat tighten and her knees tremble. If it would ever stop making Toby look like he wanted to die right there on the spot.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I wish I could go back, change everything. Save you before you needed to be saved." He looked down, still looking tormented. "I know I can't. I know I need to take responsibility. I didn't do anything then and I need to accept that I can't do anything now."

"You can," she heard herself saying, feeling every bit as surprised as he looked that the words out of her mouth were actually forming intelligible sentences. "You can do something."

Instantly, he was on his feet, looking at her with imploring eyes. "What?"

She swallowed, and gave a helpless little shrug. "Hold me," she said simply. "Hold me, every day, for the rest of our lives until one of us croaks. It's the only way you'll ever fix me."

He was moving towards her before she'd even stopped speaking, and her eyes automatically fell shut as she felt herself being enveloped by his strong, sturdy, familiar body.

It was hard to believe that malevolence even existed when he held her like this. And it was impossible to imagine feeling angry or annoyed with him, even for a second. Her arms reached out to wrap around him and her nose tilted towards his skin, trying to commit this feeling of peacefulness to memory for whenever he wasn't within arm's length.

"I will, I promise," he breathed against her skin.

And it was those words that cleared her path towards what would undoubtedly be a long and strenuous recovery.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to all you amazing people for the reviews/favorites/follows! Please believe me when I say I do not take it for granted that you all take the time to leave me these encouraging words. To answer your questions:

Anon#1: I don't do too well with prompts. Sometimes they will spark something inside me, but most of the time my best work is my own ideas, I think. I promise I will keep it in mind though!

Anon#2: Thank you! I don't post on Tumblr because I don't actually have one. LOL. Am I missing out?

On with the second segment! I know everyone kind of has their own ideas on this subject, so hopefully you guys keep enjoying.

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><p><span>November 2012<span>_  
><em>  
>He could not pinpoint the exact moment he started worrying about this. All he knew what that it was weeks ago, months even. He'd wracked his brain on how to approach it, half hoping that she would bring it up and save him from going about it the wrong way, potentially causing all hell to break loose.<p>

He'd been with Spencer close to two years now. He liked to think he knew her pretty well, and she was the one to always tell him that he got things about her that no one else did. It was unfamiliar territory when he admitted to himself that he had absolutely no idea how she would react to this. Best-case scenario was that it wasn't a big deal. She was over it, or simply hadn't made the connection.

Toby's heart sank. Neither of these options sounded like Spencer at all.

Worst-case scenario was…

He honestly didn't know. He didn't dare think about it too deeply. That she had another nervous breakdown? That all the mistakes he'd made finally caught up with her and she decided she couldn't live with him in her life anymore? Neither seemed very likely, but Toby couldn't shake his unease.

Although she was thriving in college, there were still moments when the ghosts under her bed – as she religiously called them – reappeared to haunt her. She still flinched when she got a text from an unknown number. It scared the shit out of her when someone in gloomy clothes approached her after dark. And worst of all, it still happened far too often that she called him from her dorm in the middle of the night, needing the reassurance of his voice after his dead body had destroyed her all over again her dreams.

Ten days before the day in question, she finally put him out of his misery. It was a Friday, and she'd shown up at his apartment after a full day of classes, looking tired but sleepily content. For most college freshmen, Friday nights were a time for partying, not so casual drinking and socializing, but more often than not Spencer preferred to curl up on his couch with a blanket, where they watched movies together until they both passed out.

It was one of those lazy evenings, and he was just settling down next to her with a large bowl of popcorn, when she said casually, "So what do you want to do for our anniversary?"

He immediately went very still, eyeing her with the utmost vigilance, trying to gauge how she really felt despite her tranquil exterior.

"Whatever you want," he replied carefully. "We could go to dinner in the city. Or we could stay in if you just want a quiet night. I'll cook, I don't mind."

Her face had been suspiciously neutral, but now she broke out into a small smile. "I was thinking maybe we should go out? Isn't that what people our age do? Dinner and dancing and drunken sex in the back of the car?"

He smiled at her. "Sure. If that's what you want to do then that's what we'll do."

She nodded, then reached for a handful of popcorn and settled against him as she pressed play.

He didn't see much of the movie. He held on to the girl in his arms, wondering, questioning if it was even possible that it was really that easy. Could they honestly pretend that next week was simply the anniversary of him igniting their relationship by kissing her in front of a motel in their hometown, and not of the devastating occurrences that would take place exactly one year later?

He had agonized incessantly over the past few weeks that he had irreparably ruined this day for them the moment he'd prowled into her house wearing that godforsaken black hoodie. It was almost unsettling how offhand she was about it now, not mentioning the previous year, not giving any indication that it might be a moment for her to grieve as well as to celebrate.

He wanted to ask her about it, assure her that if she wanted to spend their anniversary screaming at him for being an idiot the year before, that would be okay, too. On the other hand, he didn't want to bring it up. He was extremely reluctant to remind her of all the anguish associated with that day, but it was as if he couldn't stop himself from always having to know for sure that she wasn't trying to fool him, or herself. He took his chance in between movies.

"If it's going to be too hard for you," he began with utmost caution, feeling like he was tiptoeing around her, "we don't have to…"

He stopped when he noticed her shaking her head, and he couldn't help but think it's wasn't a great sign at all that she'd so easily grasped what he was referring to.

"I want to," she declared, and her voice not unkind but with a finality about it that he knew not to cross.

"Okay," he whispered, pressing a long, emotionally laden kiss against her forehead.

The day of the sixth, she showed up at his apartment directly after class, supporting a rather large duffel bag, as planned. She'd told him beforehand that she wanted to get ready at his place, complaining that her roommate was annoying and gushy and had horrible taste in fashion anyway. She'd warned him he wouldn't be allowed in the bathroom for at least an hour or two, and while he was fairly certain she was joking he'd made sure he was ready before she showed up anyway – just to be sure.

Because of this cautionary advice, he didn't worry too much when she took longer to get ready than she usually did. His girlfriend was an incredibly thorough creature, and when something was important to her she tended to go even more overboard. Considering this was the first anniversary they would actually get to celebrate, he knew she had to be going in for the kill. But that didn't change the fact that he had no idea what she could be doing in there that could possibly be taking so long, especially since he knew just how beautiful she was wearing neither makeup or clothes. Still, he had long accepted that it was one of those things that he would never understand and tried to see it instead as a way to exercise his patience.

When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, his jaw nearly hit the floor. She was wearing a black mini dress that clung to her every curve, paired with black heels that he knew would make Hanna proud. Her hair was styled into wild curls, the makeup around her eyes was smoky and sexy, and her lips were painted a striking shade of maroon.

He had no idea how long it took him to find his voice. "Wow. You look…"

But then he noticed her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked instantly.

"Nothing." She brushed past him, obviously trying to give off an airy impression as she stuffed her tiny clutch. "You ready?"

Suddenly, he had a bad feeling about this. Something about the brisk way she moved, the deliberately cheery expression on her face… All his senses instantly went on hyper-alert as he approached her cautiously.

"Spence…"

"Let's go," she interrupted impatiently, and his guts twisted when he took notice of how she wouldn't meet his gaze.

He sighed; then slowly reached for his jacket. Confronting her now would be suicide. It would make her lash out like a trapped animal, and it would get him nowhere in the long run. Maybe once he got her in the car, the moving vehicle would calm her into telling him what was really going on.

He was helping her into her coat when he suddenly felt her freeze. She turned around achingly slowly, pushing the coat towards his chest.

"I'm sorry," she spoke, her voice void of any emotion. "I can't do this."

And with that, she disappeared into the bedroom, the door shutting behind her, leaving him standing there, still holding her coat, feeling aghast at the events that had transpired over the last two minutes.

It took about two seconds for his feet to startle his whole body into going after her. The first thing he saw when he opened the door was a black heel, then another, and then Spencer, standing there in her black bra and underwear as she flung her beautiful dress against the wall and apparent fury.

And she was crying.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her whole body trembled as her hands reached up to cover her wet face. For a moment, he hardly dared to approach her, fearing she might actually scratch his eyes out, but then he remembered her words from a few months prior.

_Hold me. It's the only way you'll ever fix me._

He brought her to his chest and engulfed her in a bear hug. Almost surprisingly, she didn't fight the embrace. Instead, she melted into him, her fingers clutching at his freshly ironed shirt, her face pushing into his throat.

"Tell me you love me," she begged through her tears, and there seemed to be real terror in her voice. "Please… just tell me you love me."

It broke him. He knew she was back there, mentally speaking. Back in her dark, lonely kitchen a year ago today, the storm howling outside, watching her worst nightmare come true as the faceless figure of the enemy inexplicably morphed into the one person that was supposed to take care of her no matter what.

His own eyes flooded as he kissed her forehead and her hairline, his voice breathy as he spoke. "I love you." He kissed her eyelids. "I love you." Her nose. Her cheek. Her mouth. "I love you." Her chin. Her neck. "I love you." Her shoulder. Her collarbone. "I love you." He fell to his knees and kissed his way down her bare stomach, his hands connecting with the skin on her back. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

He felt her fingers tug at his hair, and it brought his attention back up. He took her with him as he got back to his feet, lifting her into in his arms. He fumbled to step out of his dressy shoes as she walked them over to the bed, drawing back the comforter. Tightening his grip on her, he slid them beneath the sheets, and as they fell against the pillows together he pulled the comforter around them as if he thought the blankets would form a shield behind which she would never feel this kind of pain.

He held her almost naked figure in his arms until she quieted down, knowing that facts and gentle reasoning would mean nothing to her now. Her brain would reason with itself when it was ready. She didn't need him for that, but she did need him for the physical reassurance that would eventually trigger her brain into action. Confirmation of this came when her sniffling gradually evened out into slow, easy breathing. He didn't dare begin any form of conversation, not even when she lay against him in complete silence, her eyes looking way past the walls of his bedroom exhaustively. He didn't want to push her, and he couldn't think of anything he could say to make it better anyway. If she wanted to fall asleep in his secure hold and wake up tomorrow pretending tonight never happened, there wasn't any part of him that would even consider holding her back.

But that was not Spencer. She didn't run away from the things that hurt her – that was more his thing. She confronted them, over and over, until the pain went away.

She sat up, rubbing her face with both hands, and he followed suit. He ached all over when he saw that her makeup was smeared all over the skin around her eyes and down her cheeks. The words that came out of her mouth chilled him.

"After I found you in my kitchen that night…" She hesitated noticeably. "I went back to the loft. The door was locked, but I… I sat there on the threshold for hours, sobbing, begging you tell me it was all just a bad dream…" Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Were you…? Did you…?"

He shook his head desperately, his hands reaching to clasp around her elbows intuitively. "I was long gone by then. I never even went back to the loft, I just jumped in my truck and…" He swallowed, wondering if he'd ever hated himself this much. "It was Mona who was in there. She told me about it later, I swear I almost throttled her on the spot."

Her whole body seemed limp with detachment, as if they were merely conversing about the weather. "What about... the steam room? Did you lock me in there?"

"No," he said, more sharply than he meant.

How could she even think that? The mere purpose of him selling his soul to the devil had been her physical wellbeing – how could she possibly think he would ever do anything to compromise it?

Her questions raised an even greater issue. Why had that waited a whole year to discuss these occurrences? They had talked a little on the night of their reunion at the motel, and he had been ready then to put it all on the table if that was what she wanted. But it hadn't taken him long at all to sense that she wasn't as willing. It was completely out of character of her, but for once in her life Spencer had completely rebuffed knowing all of the details. It was still much fresh for her, much too raw, and knowing the extent of his escapades might have caused her to relinquish her still very fragile hold on sanity. All she had wanted to know was that he loved her, that he'd always loved her, and that he'd been loyal to her from start to finish. Back then, that had been enough.

But now it was all catching up to them with a vengeance, and that seemed equally horrifying. The idea that these wonderings had spooked her for a whole year made him viciously regret never bringing up the subject. Even if deep down he suspected she'd known the answers all along, it still haunted her enough to have to ask, and that was devastating to him.

"I don't know who it was," he forced himself to tell her, talking about the steam room again. "But I _never_ would have risked your safety like that."

She nodded, an undeniable hardness to her voice when she asked, "Did you hurt anyone else?"

He fell silent. He wished he could tell her in all honesty that no, of course he hadn't. He wondered if she would ever look at him the same when it truly dawned on her how willing he had been to hurt other people just as long as she remained unscathed. She had always viewed him as someone with infinite goodness in him, and he was perfectly aware that he was about to burst this bubble – possibly forever.

"I ran Lucas off the road," he said quietly, unable to look her in the eye, unable to handle the raging incomprehension he knew he would see there. "He didn't get hurt, but… that doesn't matter. He could have." He paused, letting this sink in before he continued. "I knocked Hanna down when she went on that job interview. I just wanted to scare her into getting out of there, but it went all wrong, and I…" He shrugged defenselessly, shaking his head slightly as he prepared to tell her about his only action that had truly cost someone major physical issues. "Your friend from the Decathlon team that had that bike accident? Brad?"

Her eyes shot up to his sharply. "You did that? You messed with his bike?"

Seeing what he'd done through her eyes caused her voice to malfunction, so he simply nodded miserably, unable and unwilling to even begin to make excuses for his actions.

"What were you thinking?" she cried out in angered disbelief. "What the hell goes through your head as you literally sabotage someone's bike?"

"You," he struck back. "If it wasn't him, it would be you. That's all I could think about."

She scoffed. "How is my wellbeing of any more value than anyone else's?"

"It's not," he was willing to admit, "in the grand scheme of things. But to me it's everything, Spencer. It's just the way it is."

"That's not good enough," she informed him icily.

He nodded, easily accepting this. "I know."

She twisted her shoulders away from him and they say in silence for a while. He had nothing left to confess but a few nasty texts he'd sent under Mona's watchful eye. Spencer now officially knew of the lowest, most horrible things he'd ever done in his life. He was aware that she would need some time to process it. To come to terms with the person he'd turned into in his desperation to keep her out of harm's way, because he knew it was someone she didn't recognize at all.

When the eerie stillness dragged on for too long, he figured he would give her some space. As much as it pained him, she probably didn't want him anywhere near her tonight.

Softly, he said, "You stay here, take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"No." Quick as lightning, her fingers had curled around his wrist. "Toby Cavanaugh, don't you go anywhere."

He checked her features to see if she meant it, hardly daring to believe his own ears. Seeing nothing ambiguous in her eyes, he nodded acceptingly. He didn't understand it, but he wouldn't deny her request.

He started unbuttoning his shirt before sliding off his pants and socks, noticing how she, too, had discarded her bra and was pulling his old anchor shirt over her head. They'd skipped dinner, and even making it into the adjacent bathroom to brush their teeth seemed too much of a chore at this point. He was emotionally exhausted, and knew beyond any question of doubt that she was at least as spent as he was.

Without a word, she turned off the light. His arms itched to draw her close but he didn't dare, too afraid of having to face the rejection if she pulled away. He could hardly believe it when she scooted backwards until her back connected with his chest. He took a chance and carefully wove both arms across her tiny body, feeling almost at peace when he felt her relax in his hold.

Stillness enveloped them, but he could tell by her breathing that she wasn't asleep.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against the cotton of her blue shirt, wondering if the words even held any semblance of meaning to her anymore. "I hope… I hope one day you can forgive me."

She didn't immediately respond, but when her voice came out of the darkness it knocked the wind out of him despite her barely audible murmur.

"I know who you are. You never have to say you're sorry."

* * *

><p><span>February 2013<span>_  
><em>  
>The trip from New York City to Rosewood had been quiet, but not in a way that made her uncomfortable. Spencer had suggested she drive, partly because her car was newer and more up for the trip, and partly because she wanted to give her boyfriend some time with his thoughts.<p>

When she had offered to accompany him, he looked surprised at best, but reluctant was probably a more accurate description. For a moment, she'd been sure he would decline, but then his eyes softened and he reached for her hand. He nodded wordlessly, and she smiled and reached out to smooth her fingers down his cheek.

They'd returned to Rosewood for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but it was their first time driving back on a regular Saturday. She had known that Toby would be coming back today, rain or shine, and somehow the idea of him making the trip on his own didn't sit right with her. And so when he hadn't objected to her coming along, she had cancelled on her group study session and prepared for the trip back to the town they were born in.

They stopped at a florist on the way and she gave gentle advice on flower combinations, but only when he asked. He was better at this stuff than he thought he was. The times he had bought Spencer flowers was proof of that, and she decided she would tell him so later when his head was screwed on straight again.

The mausoleum was deserted when they arrived. Spencer had a feeling it usually was, even if she'd only ever been there a few times before. She let Toby take the lead, feeling almost self-conscious for how loudly her heels seemed to resonate in the empty halls. When they reached the crypt they came for, he took a deep breath and laid the flowers down in front of it.

"Happy Birthday, Mom," she uttered softly, and Spencer instinctively weaved her fingers through his.

He was quiet after that, and she didn't push him. Instead, she let her own mind wander, unable to stop thinking up imaginary scenarios that featured the woman she would never know.

In her fantasies, Marion would take her shopping and gossip on the phone with her and tell her she was the daughter she never had. She would thank Spencer for loving her son every bit as much as _she_ did. She would be the kind of mother that Spencer had accepted long ago her own mother would never be.

It was silly, and childish, and probably selfish and self-absorbed in light of the loss Toby had had to overcome, but Spencer knew what it felt like to mourn Marion Cavanaugh.

She chanced a glance at him, feel her heart jerk painfully when she saw a tear rolling down his cheek. Letting go of his fingers, she wrapped her arms around his waist from the side, standing on her tiptoes to press a long, soothing kiss against the flesh on his neck. She remained this way until she felt him relax almost unnoticeably.

"You want a moment alone with her?" she finally murmured.

He hesitated, and then nodded slightly. She untangled herself from his body and squeezed his fingers. "I'll wait outside."

She took off, but just as she was about to turn the corner she looked back to see he had reached out and placed his hand against the cold, hard stone. A stifling kind of guilt washed over her, and it wasn't until she was outside in fresh air and sitting on a bench that the reason hit her like a punch in the gut, and she suddenly felt nauseous.

This was the woman who had carried Toby inside her body for nine months. She had brought him into this world, wrapped him in blankets, fed him and loved him and kept him safe when he was too defenseless to do it himself. Everything Spencer knew about her suggested she was nothing less than a saint, and yet Spencer had had absolutely no regard for her as she'd scraped Toby's name into her crypt over a year ago.

Looking back, that had been the only moment she had ever really come close to hating him. She had been so blinded by this rage that it never crossed even her mind that by wanting to get back at Toby, she had also disrespected the memory of his mother.

Now, it made her feel horrified and ashamed, and quite desperately she told her herself that at least she'd come to her senses in time. She'd had the damaged crypt replaced with a flawless replica, without him or his father or anyone ever finding out about it. She hadn't been ready to admit to what she had done, and almost more importantly, what she was capable of when that kind of anger and hurt overpowered her.

But in this moment, she felt she couldn't keep it inside any longer. Especially since Toby had been so honest and open in confessing to everything he'd done during those dark times. It was unacceptable that she didn't grant him the same courtesy.

When he appeared to sit down next to her and she spotted the redness in his eyes, it occurred to her that it was probably horrible timing. But something that came from deep inside her kicked her into going through with it anyway, almost as if she was afraid she'd lose her nerve if they distanced themselves from the building where his mother lay.

"You okay?" she had to ask first, almost apprehensively.

He sniffled a little and nodded, reaching for her hand, clasping it between both of his own. For some reason, she couldn't stand his touch. Not was she wasn't convinced he wouldn't be furious with her in just a few short seconds.

Hurt and confusion crossed his face when she pulled away, and she hurriedly took a deep breath. "I need to tell you something."

He shifted his body so he was facing her, looking concerned now. She suddenly felt a little queasy, and squeezed her eyes shut for a slight instant before forcing them open and biting the bullet.

"Last year, when I thought you were…" There was no reason to finish her sentence when she saw his eyes lose some of their brilliance. "I was angry, and… Me and the girls were at the mausoleum for Alison, and I… I…"

"Spencer," he interrupted gently, drawing her eyes to his. The pained understanding she saw in his gaze stole the breath from her lungs. "It's okay. I know."

She stared at him in deafening silence. "You… What?"

"Mona told me," he told her miserably. "She thought it was hilarious. It was only much later that I realized this was because she was already planning to fake my death."

Now she really felt sick. It was as if her mind had gone blank, and she simply stared at the tree behind him without ever seeing it.

"That's what you meant, wasn't it?" he asked softly. "That I was dead to you?"

She started shaking her head, even though his words were true. "I didn't mean it," she mumbled desperately. "I was hurting, and… and _furious_. I didn't… I never…" She gulped. "Did you hate me when you found out?"

He let out a breath of air. "No, baby." He took her hand in his again, and this time she didn't pull away. "I hated myself. That's all."

Rubbing her free hand across her face in distress, she choked out, "I'm so sorry."

"Spencer," he stopped her again, shaking his head. "You don't get to apologize for anything you did during that time."

She didn't know what to say, and so they sat in silence. It was still cold, even for February, but it was as if neither of them even felt it, too lost in their own thoughts. It was she who put an end to their uncertain moment of conversationless brooding.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew?" she finally asked quietly.

He shot her a curious look, as if the answer was obvious. "I figured you didn't want me to know," was his simple explanation. "Especially after the damage suddenly disappeared." He stared at her with perceptive eyes. "I take it that was you?"

She nodded, lowering her gaze again. He played with the fingers of her hand.

"I knew you'd tell me when you were ready," he murmured.

This caught her attention. As she looked into the sincerity of his eyes, she felt suddenly overwhelmed by the depth of his selflessness and sacrifice. It was unfathomable in how many ways he put her needs first – whether it was making sure they never found themselves in a situation where she had to go more than four hours without something to eat, or letting her use his apartment as study headquarters when her roommate had friends over, or never once pressuring her to come to terms with the more devastating occurrences of their torturous past.

She scooted closer and leaned against his chest, feeling his arms coil around her like a snake. Slowly, she ran one hand down his front, feeling a sense of serenity wash over her that she only ever experienced when he was close by.

"She raised a good man, your mother," she offered softly. "Best man I know."

The look in his eyes seemed confused, then almost disbelieving. She pulled him close and pressed her lips against his, knowing that their physical connection would convince him where her words couldn't.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Once again, thank you to everyone who took the time to review! I think I've mentioned this before but this story was defiant and uncooperative pretty much from the first word to the last, and I struggled with it for so long that I wasn't really sure how it turned out. It makes me so happy to hear that you guys are enjoying it.

Anon#2: Haha! That is so sweet, thank you. I will definitely consider getting a Tumblr, but I'm a horrible decision maker. For real, it takes me like half an hour to decide if I'm going to get a pair of socks or not. LOL.

Last chapter, guys. Thanks for coming along for the ride. I appreciate it.

* * *

><p><span>July 2013<span>

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

She let out an impatient breath. "Toby…"

"It's nothing, okay? Just leave it."

He moved away from her, and she could see definite tension in his broad shoulders as he walked to the other side of the room. Honestly, she didn't know if she wanted to shout at him for being an ass or break down and plead for forgiveness and beg him to talk to her.

As usual, her mouth made the decision before her brain could catch up.

"I thought you said I didn't have to apologize for anything I did during that time?" she yelled after him. "Was that just a load of crap then?"

It made him stop. He waited a moment before slowly turning around. There was something she couldn't quite place in his eyes, but in made her sigh with relief anyway because after the closed off expression he'd worn all evening, even indecipherable emotion was a welcome guest.

"I never liked that guy," he spoke slowly, his voice clearly strained. "I didn't like how he gave you pills; I didn't like how he made no secret of wanting to go out with you even after you repeatedly told him you were unavailable. But I always trusted you, and when you said nothing happened with him I believed you without question."

"Good," she snapped. "Because it was the truth." The impatience in her tone dwindled down to an almost, but not quite, amused exasperation. "Are you going to let me explain or are you going to keep walking away from me whenever I try to start a conversation?"

When she called him out like that, he immediately sobered. It was as if a majority of his anger already fled his body, leaving only confusion and insecurity in its wake. After slight hesitation, he made his way to couch, grateful that Spencer followed his lead and was soon sitting down across from him in the middle of the Hastings' barn.

Spencer had moved back home for the summer last month, while Toby finished up two more weeks of work back in New York. Since he no longer had a place to live in Rosewood, it had looked like they would be doing long distance until college started up again in the fall, but Spencer's mother had surprised them both by inviting Toby to stay in the barn during his break from work. The woman still didn't spend a lot of time at home – some things never changed, he thought with slight amusement – so in reality he and Spencer were both living in the barn, with Spencer making sporadic visits back to her room whenever her mother suddenly showed up at the Hastings' manor.

Tonight they had gone on a double date with Hanna and Caleb, taking advantage of the fact that the latter was in town (Caleb did not have the same advantage Toby did, where his girlfriend's mother was in a position to offer him a replacement home on her property during the summer months). After two hours of laughter and reminiscing and enjoying each other's company, Hanna suddenly spoke up with scandalous excitement in her voice.

"Oh my God, Spence, look what the cat just dragged in."

They all turned their heads towards the door, and Toby felt his mood sour slightly when he saw a tall, dirty blond teenager walk into the Apple Rose Grille. It was the guy who had stared at Spencer with desire his eyes at every Decathlon event Toby went to, unable or unwilling to hide his feelings for her even when her boyfriend was around.

On his arm was a lean brunette that Toby didn't recognize, which made him suspect she wasn't from Rosewood or at least hadn't attended Rosewood High.

Hanna seemed to think all of this was highly amusing. Cackling, she clapped her hands together in delight as she looked back to Spencer and blurted out, "Check who finally got over your steamy little strip session!"

Spencer froze next to him, and he felt himself subsequently go pale. He sent her a sharp look, watching her shoot daggers at Hanna and seeing Caleb looking between all of them in confusion before clearly realizing that whatever his girlfriend had said struck a nerve.

An awkward silence settled over the table, and he could sense Spencer was about to address it when he suddenly found himself turning away from her rather abruptly and asking Caleb what life was like in Boston. Spencer had looked bewildered and maybe a little hurt, but for reasons he couldn't put his finger on he found himself unable to acknowledge it.

He knew he had put a strain on the entire evening, and now he felt ashamed. They had all done their best not to let it affect them but despite everyone's efforts, they weren't quite able to return to the happy, carefree atmosphere from before Andrew Campbell's grand entrance. Spencer barely looked at him during the rest of dinner, and when it was over Caleb had tried to apologize for his girlfriend's loose lips while the girls were in the bathroom, but Toby hadn't been open to it.

The only person he'd wanted to hear anything out of was Spencer, which was why it didn't make sense even to him that once they'd returned to the barn, he'd tried to elude every attempt at contact she made.

It was only now, as she sat across from him on the couch, that he realized what stung so badly. It wasn't whatever went on between her and Andrew in the first place. That part he didn't like, but could accept because he knew beyond any shred of doubt that it must have happened while he and Spencer were broken up.

It was that she had actively kept it from him. Lied to him when he'd thought they were past all that. Left him feeling like a complete idiot trying to play catch-up when Hanna offhandedly joked about it, clearly under the impression that Toby knew all about it and might even find it funny.

"I know Hanna has absolutely no tact," she began, and it was as if she read his mind. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way. But wasn't as bad as she made it out to be, I swear."

He ran a hand through his hair wearily, thinking that nothing could possibly be as graphic as what he'd been picturing in his mind. Sighing heavily, he said, "Just tell me what happened."

He saw her gulp. "It was after I found the lair empty," she told him with a twinge of desperation in her voice, and she didn't have to say more for him to grasp during which period of their relationship – or lack thereof at that point – this incident had taken place. "I wanted to get back at you," she added hoarsely, looking remorseful. "I was about to get kicked off the team because I'd skipped too many meetings, so I tried to talk Andrew into facing off with me in World History, and when he didn't bite I… I suggested a way to make it more interesting."

She didn't have to elaborate. Between her explanation and Hanna's loudly insensitive comment at the restaurant, the picture of what had gone down was becoming more and more apparent.

"I bet he didn't need much convincing after you basically offered to get naked for him," he muttered.

She didn't answer. Not verbally, anyway. The way she looked at her feet guiltily spoke volumes, and perhaps surprisingly, it made him suddenly feel like a huge jerk. As she'd pointed out before, he had no right to get mad over anything she did during that time. It was high time he started acting like it.

He took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. "How far did it go?"

"Not far," was her immediate response, and he felt better. "At least not for me. He was sitting there in his underwear by the time Emily interrupted us. I was winning. Obviously."

Despite everything, he found himself smiling slightly at the subtle but cocky pride he heard in her voice. He'd always known she was a hell of a lot smarter than that Campbell kid, anyway.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "And you?"

She shook her head. "My shirt and pants were still on. The only glimpse he got of anything even a little scandalous was my bra."

"Which one?"

He had no idea why he would ask this or why it was even important, but Spencer didn't appear to find it such a strange question. Sometimes having a girlfriend who paid such close attention to detail really paid off.

"That blue cotton one I used to have? I don't know if you remember it, I threw it out like a year ago."

He nodded because he did remember, and he wondered if it made him a possessive, sexist pig for being grateful it wasn't one of her sexy, lacy ones.

Finally, he presented the question he'd wanted to ask all along. "Why am I only finding out about this now?"

"Because," he informed him with an impatient sigh, "at first we didn't talk about any of that stuff. And after a few conversations, I kind of figured you might already know."

He must have looked at her like she was insane, because she hurried to explain. "Every time I fessed up to something, you would tell me you already knew because Mona threw it in your face. I guess… I guess a part of me _hoped_ you already knew because that meant I wouldn't have to tell you."

It was almost troubling how much this thought process made sense to him. In a way, she had been trying to protect him by keeping him in the dark. It was something they had both already been guilty of many times in the past, and, if it came down to it, he wasn't entirely sure they wouldn't do it all over again.

Thinking about it now, he was positive that Mona hadn't known about it, either, or she would have surely taken great pleasure in shoving it in down this throat. He felt disgust well up inside him when he thought of the short, diabolical girl. For reasons he would never understand, Spencer and her friends still harbored slight guilt over what happened to her – as if the despicable way she met her end somehow made them forget the atrocious way she chose to live her life – but Toby would always see her as the devil. He'd had a front row seat to the inner workings of her sick mind, and he had no doubt that she'd been every bit as disturbed as Alison or Jenna.

His questions seemed to have dried out, and for a while she just sat there watching him almost apprehensively. Then she got to her feet, so briskly that he briefly wondered if she was mad at him. She headed to her laptop, which was resting on the kitchen table, her fingers flying over the keyboard for a moment before music suddenly blasted in his ears.

He could only watch – flabbergasted – as she made way back to him, dancing sensually to the loaded melody. When she slowly clasped her hands around the material of her elegant dress, shimmied out of it in one languid movement and promptly tossed it in his face, he got it, and he nearly laughed.

He flung the dress across the room, looking up into her mischievous eyes. "Are you stripping for me?" he asked teasingly.

She didn't answer but shot him a suggestive smile and only danced harder in her bra and underwear, which was all the confirmation he needed. This time he laughed out loud, leaning forward and stretching out his hands towards her.

She pushed them away relentlessly. "Nah uh," she taunted. "You can look but you can't touch."

"Spence," he groaned, falling back against the couch in frustration. It was her turn to laugh now, but it soon became apparent that her willpower wasn't all that much more solid than his.

Before he knew it she was in his lap, straddling him, one set of fingers running through his hair while the other reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. His lips made contact with her skin, and the night became theirs.

* * *

><p><span>April 2014<span>

After almost two years in New York City, Spencer couldn't imagine ever moving back to a small town like Rosewood, Pennsylvania. The incestuous nature of small town America where everyone knew each other and people were nice enough to each other's faces but as soon as they went their separate ways they didn't hesitate to stab each other in the back, repelled her now. It made her wonder how she had survived eighteen years of it.

New Yorkers weren't known for their friendliness. In fact, they were famous for being downright rude, but, Spencer thought, at least they weren't hypocrites. They didn't smile to your face only to gossip about the kind of shoes you were wearing as soon as you were out the door. Unapologetically honest was what they were, and after growing up in a place where lying was a second nature to most of its residents, Spencer absolutely loved it.

Another thing she adored about New York was its coffee shops. They were cozy and plentiful, and Spencer very much enjoyed the idea that if she wanted she could have coffee at a different one every day. Over the months, she'd accumulated a list of favorites though, and she and Toby currently sat at a table at one of their regular places, enjoying coffee and spring sunshine and each other.

Spencer was listening to him talk about a few of his co-workers, who had also become his friends somewhere along the line. She took a moment to actively appreciate how New York had benefited Toby as well. He would always be the quiet, sensitive type, but the boy she had met on his porch all those years ago was unrecognizable. Instead stood a proud young man who was pleased with the life he made for himself. Since leaving Rosewood, he smiled more, laughed more, and seemed more genuinely content on any given day. She wondered if it was her imagination, but sometimes it even appeared as if he stood straighter. It seemed his natural distrust of the human species was slowly but surely ebbing away, making room for friendships and confidence. Spencer adored this new side of him – not only because of how it positively influenced her and their relationship, but also because it would have been worth it just to see him so much happier.

When the sun's brightness suddenly disappeared, it took her a second to realize it wasn't a cloud that was blocking it, but a body. She looked up, almost annoyed, only to come face to face with the last person she thought she'd ever lay eyes on again.

"I saw you sitting over here. Thought I'd come over and say hi." He gave her that impersonal smirk that she somehow still recognized. "It's been a long time."

Overcoming her surprise, she nodded slowly before agreeing. "It has."

"You're looking well," he told her, and she smiled tightly. Considering their last interaction had been when she hadn't slept or eaten properly in days, this wasn't much of a compliment.

She was aware of Toby looking between the two of them confusedly, before eventually offering his hand to the man.

"Toby Cavanaugh," he introduced himself, and the stranger smirked again as he accepted the handshake.

"I know." His eyes fell back to Spencer, and it was as if she could feel them burn a hole into her scalp. "I'm assuming your flower had an uneven number of petals then?"

A slow flush came over her face when she realized what he was talking about. She realized she had probably already been showing early signs of a mental breakdown even then, but now it embarrassed her that she had been so irrational as to try and gauge the truth of Toby's feelings for her by playing a childish game inspired by a Disney movie.

She didn't answer, knowing she didn't need to. She and Toby were sitting together intimately at a small round table, her bare feet resting comfortably in his lap. It was obvious that she had chosen him. That they had chosen each other.

"Take care of yourself, kiddo," the man said, and as quickly as he had appeared he was gone.

"Who was that?" Toby asked once his puzzlement seemed to wear off a bit.

She cleared her throat, wondering why she suddenly felt so self-conscious. "His name is Miles Corwin. He's a private investigator that I hired to track you down after I found out you were working with Mona."

She had never told him this in so many words, but he knew she had made major attempts to find him after he ran out of her kitchen, so she guessed it wasn't much of a shocker to him. She took a moment to realize and appreciate how it didn't hurt so much anymore to talk about it.

He had kept his promise. He held her every day. Good or bad. Even on the super busy ones when they'd barely had two minutes to spend together, he would crawl in bed and pull her in his arms and stay awake holding her until she fell asleep. It wasn't much of a surprise to her that she seemed to be healing.

He had the ability to shred her to pieces in a single evening, and the mere idea of that was scary as hell; but he also had the ability, and more importantly, the patience, to put her back together.

"What did he mean?" Toby questioned quietly. "With the flower?"

She suddenly became very interested in her nails. "It was a game I played. You know… He loves me, he loves me not…"

Sneaking a glance at him, she saw his Adam's apple bob up and down a few times as his eyes clouded over with that dullness that she saw only when they discussed this particular topic.

Scars, she thought. He had scars in his eyes.

"It's still hard for me to accept," he spoke hesitantly, "that you didn't always just feel that love."

"Oh, but I did." She smiled sadly when his eyes lifted to hers in surprise. "I did, which is why it confused me so much. It made me believe in it even when all evidence said otherwise. I couldn't give up hope completely, and I never did. A small part of me always believed…"

She knew it was what had allowed her to so blindly follow him out of that diner, into his car, and into the motel room despite all the reasons against him. A gut feeling that she was sure her parents would laugh away as "unfounded" and "illogical", but for her it had been what lifted her out of the pits of hell and into the arms of her loved one.

They said nothing more, but his hands slowly followed the path of her bare legs in a way that was somehow both arousing and comforting. She closed her eyes, relishing in his ministrations and the sunshine on her face.

* * *

><p><span>November 2026<span>

It was a regular Friday for Toby Cavanaugh, except for the fact that he'd been forced to take the late shift at work due to a colleague falling ill. On a normal day of the week, he was off long before the sun disappeared until morning, but today it had been dark for a while by the time he made his way up the path to his house.

Pushing through the front door, he tiredly hung up his jacket and kicked off his shoes before it dawned on him that his surroundings seemed unnaturally quiet. His ears sharpened reflexively, searching for any auditive indication that he had, in fact, entered the correct house, and he subsequently became aware of soft, sensuous music playing from the living room.

"Hello?" he called out, hearing reactive footsteps and thinking that this sounded a hell of a lot more like the house he usually came home to.

It was his wife who appeared in the doorway. His achingly beautiful wife, who after all these years still took his breath away. She was wearing a simple but elegant woolly dress with high-heeled boots. Light makeup adorned her features and her hair looked different than it had this morning.

It was certainly very different from her usual Friday night look.

"Hey," she greeted him, quickly closing the distance between them. Cradling his face in her hands, she kissed him with abandon. His arms automatically went around her as a warm, wet tongue entered his mouth and curled around his own.

"What's going on?" he asked once they were through, his hands still at her hips. The curious silence caught up with him again and he looked around. "Where are the kids?"

"Emily came and picked them up," she explained, but gave no reason why. She led him into the living room by his fingers, and he did a double take since he barely recognized it.

There were no toys on the floor, and the books that were previously scattered all over the coffee table were now in their rightful place on the shelf. The lights were dimmed to draw attention to the candles on the dining room table, which had been immaculately set with their good china. In the center stood a bottle of red wine, a large homemade lasagna, and – Toby's heart stalled out in his throat – the Scrabble board she'd had engraved when they were teenagers.

"Happy Anniversary, Toby," she said softly, and he stared at her in awe.

For over ten years now, they had been pretending today didn't exist. They celebrated the day they got engaged, and the day they got married; but this one they didn't so much as acknowledge because they both knew she couldn't bear it. Neither of them wanted a repeat of the first time they had attempted to celebrate it, and so he followed her lead in treating it like any other day of the year. As agonizing as it was for him to contemplate, he had come to accept that this day would always remind her more of the bad times than the good.

"Spencer," he said heavily, telling himself he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He tilted her face towards his. "Are you sure about this?"

She nodded slowly, looking serene if not overly joyful. Closing her eyes, she held his hand against her cheek for one intense moment before she stepped closer to him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, resting her opposite hand on his chest.

"Sixteen years ago, you kissed me in the parking lot of the Edgewood Motor Court," she reminisced happily, "and I haven't wanted to kiss anyone else ever since."

He smiled at her, inexplicably choked up. "I love you," he told her, feeling like it was the most genuine thing he'd ever said. "I love you so very much."

It was almost frustrating how ordinary the words sounded in comparison to the sensation that rushed through his entire being whenever he looked at her. The love he felt for her was so many-sided and boundless and ever-present that he knew words would never be enough to fully express it. She was his lover, his best friend, his confidant, his conscience and his sanity. Every good thing he now had in his adult life was, directly or indirectly, because of her. And the most amazing part – the part that never failed to knock Toby on his ass every time – was that the look in her eyes in moments like this always suggested that she thought she was the lucky one.

"I love you, too," she murmured, stroking his face with the palm of her hand. "You're the best husband and father I could ever ask for."

He could feel himself tearing up, and as a result she did, too. She laughed, wiping underneath her eyes.

"We can't do that," she protested, only half joking. "The night's way too young for us to be getting emotional like this. I made flan for dessert, and after that I'm challenging you to a game of Scrabble, and if we make it through that without ripping each other's clothes off I thought we could–"

Her words were cut off when he trapped her against him, silencing her with a long, passionate kiss. She melted into him like she always did, and for a moment all Toby knew was her.

It was Spencer who pulled back with a gentle but firm hand against his chest and a few humorous words. "If you think we're one of those couples who skip dinner and head straight for the bedroom, you married the wrong woman," she informed him dryly. "I think you're hot and everything, but I've been slaving away in the kitchen all afternoon and my blood sugar is at my ankles right about now."

He chuckled, reaching behind her to pull out her chair. She sat down with a blissfully happy smile, and he was halfway around the table to his own chair when he suddenly halted.

Ignoring her questioning look, he took the few steps back to her, bending over and brushing her hair off her neck. His lips grazed the shell of her ear as he whispered, "Happy Anniversary."


End file.
